The Burden is Heavy
by luna-stella
Summary: AU Something went wrong at Amon Hen, and Boromir survived but escaped with the Ring. What will this mean for the Quest, and for the Fellowship?
1. At What Price Faith?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, or places. I am only borrowing them, and I promise to return them alive and unspoiled when I am finished with them.

"_Well, Frodo," said Aragorn at last. "I fear that the burden is laid upon you. You are the bearer appointed by the Council. Your own way you alone can choose. In this matter I cannot advise you. I am not Gandalf, and though I have tried to bear his part, I do not know what design or hope he had for this hour, if indeed he had any. Most likely it seems that if he were now the choice would still wait on you. Such is your fate."_

_Frodo did not answer at once. Then he spoke slowly. "I know that haste is needed, yet I cannot choose. The burden is heavy. Give me an hour longer, and I will speak. Let me be alone!"_

_Aragorn looked at him with kindly pity. "Very well, Frodo son of Drogo," he said. "You shall have an hour, and you shall be alone. We will stay here for a while. But do not stray far or out of call."_

_Frodo sat for a moment with his head bowed. Sam, who had been watching his master with great concern, shook his head and muttered: "Plain as a pikestaff it is, but it's no good Sam Gamgee putting in his spoke just now."_

_Presently Frodo got up and walked away; and Sam saw that while the others restrained themselves and did not stare at him, the eyes of Boromir followed Frodo intently, until he passed out of sight in the trees at the foot of Amon Hen._

--The Fellowship of the Ring; page 412

**The Burden is Heavy**

**1. At What Price Faith?**

Aragorn was speaking.

That much Boromir knew, before the great sudden weight of darkness that so clearly was a constant ache for Frodo slipped a tendril around his waist and pulled tight. He set down his sword, and leaned over his stomach drawing tight breaths. Resting his weight on a fist clenched tightly, he stared at his knees trying ever so hard not to look at the Ringbearer's face. He had fought this battle before. He had felt this, oh yes, he had felt it. But never before had the pull been so great.

He remembered what it felt like at the Council of Elrond, staring at the glorious Ring in utter fascination, instantly enamored. How he had then felt a tiny sliver of darkness within his heart, but he had not cared. Why had he not fought it then? Had it shone in his eyes then, the reckless unforgiving love he was struck with? How he felt he was bidden to protect it, and so keep it safe and whole? Surely Master Elrond had seen that, and yet he had sent the Man on this fruitless quest to destroy that which was both Good and Evil, beautiful and hateful, and many other things besides. Had the wise Elf foreseen the temptation of Boromir?

_Does it really matter?_ a cold voice inside him whispered. _Look: there is the Ring, and there are the fools who would destroy it. Fools they are, who will not see the gift the Enemy himself has lain before our eyes. You need only to be rid of them and then the way will be open!_

Boromir squeezed his eyes shut and pressed a hand to his forehead. Increasingly more often these days, he had thoughts of those ilk, thoughts that sent his knowing, rational mind flying into oblivion. He was a son of the House of Stewards: a house that was _never_ to be known for its ill faith!

He could hear Frodo speaking harsh words that the gentle hobbit would hardly be inclined to say, in his natural state of mind. "…let me be alone!"

_Ill faith?_ _Ill faith toward whom? If your father knew of the trinket this foolish halfling carries, to his doom and the doom of us all, he would have you flayed for not seizing it earlier!_ Boromir's eyes opened wide, and his hand flew from his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his head, and the eyes of Legolas, watching him with unease. Man flashed Elf a concerned look, jerking his head in the direction of Frodo. Legolas nodded, though his serene eyes watched Boromir out of a corner warily still.

No, he decided firmly, my father is proud and bitter at times, but he has not turned so foolish as that.

Boromir decide it was time to employ an old calming trick he had once taught his younger brother. "_When your own mind will not be silent," _he had said to Faramir, "_you must empty it of all thoughts, then filter the appropriate ones back in like water through a strainer."_ He shifted to a cross-legged position and shut his eyes. With a deep breath he imagined gathering all his thoughts in a tight net, then letting his breath out pictured scattering them to the mercy of the wind. Twelve times he did this, and then he drew himself back to his senses, his head for once blissfully clear.

Just as he returned to the real world, Frodo stood and brushed himself off. Then he strode off into the woods.

And Boromir knew that he could not escape it, no matter how hard he tried. But he could at least try to persuade Frodo to bring the Ring to Minas Tirith. It might work. Perhaps the Halfling would finally understand the folly he was leading the world to.

As Frodo disappeared from view, Boromir watched him. Then his gaze moved over the rest of the Fellowship, who were all trying as hard as they possibly could not to look at the Ringbearer, except for Sam whose worried stare trailed behind Frodo. Only until he could not see his master any longer did the gardener's eyes rest – just for a moment – on the Man. But Legolas looked up, and watched him keenly. Under the powerful gaze of the wood-Elf, Boromir felt the sudden need to do something, anything with his hands. He picked up his sword and whetstone once again, and returned to sharpening. If anything, that only honed the edge of his restlessness.

Eventually the others turned to debate, and setting his activity aside, Boromir got up as quietly as he knew how, and followed the path Frodo had made into the trees. And he wondered why indeed he was forced to speak kind words to one whom he did love, and then betray him in a backhanded way. _Duty calls,_ the presence at the back of his head told him. _You cannot let it slide past you forever._

Then he moved past a tree and saw Frodo on the ground with his head in his hand, his back bent as if weighted by some burden to heavy to think of. Boromir's heart was wrenched, and he stood there motionless for several moments, until the hobbit turned suddenly and looked the Man in the eye.

That decided him. The halfling did not deserve the burden of carrying. Let it move to somebody stronger, and let Frodo have a much-deserved respite from the pain.

If at the back of his mind, a certain force withdrew while practically gloating, Boromir did not pay any heed.

**Author's Notes: **

The citation and page number at the top is from the hardbound Alan Lee fiftieth century edition – my very own precious birthday present.


	2. Two May Find Wisdom

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, or places. I am only borrowing them, and I promise to return them alive and unspoiled when I am finished with them.

_A lot of the dialogue in the beginning of this chapter comes straight out of _The Fellowship of the Ring. _It won't all be like that -- this story is, after all, fairly Alternate Universe._

**The Burden is Heavy**

**Chapter 2. Two May Find Wisdom**

Frodo stared at Boromir. His eyes bored into the Man, who smiled comfortingly at him. Once again, Boromir was shocked and saddened by the incredible strain that showed through in Frodo's watchful blue eyes, and angered at the worry crease above his brows which had not been there when the left Imladris. For a second he wavered. _Should you not succeed,_ he warned his reckless, dutiful self, _there shall be only another care and trouble to lay upon this one's shoulders. He will not trust you. None of them will trust you._

_But is there good reason that I should fail?_ he asked himself. Of course there was not and the second's doubt only strengthened his resolve in the end. Stepping over a fallen log toward the Hobbit he said,

"I was afraid for you, Frodo. If Aragorn is right and Orcs are near, then none of us should wander alone, and you least of all: so much depends upon you. And my heart too is heavy. May I stay now and talk for a while, since I have found you? It would comfort me." He thought of the useless council he had just left, and was angered by the others' useless chitchat. Why must he act alone? Where was Isildur's Heir, who could have claimed the Ring for himself if Boromir must be denied?

_Like a fool, he fears the burden upon his high Númenorean shoulders. But he could carry it without such pain._

Boromir continued, "Where there are so many, all speech becomes a debate without end. But two together may perhaps find wisdom." Frodo responded haltingly and his voice caught slightly at the end.

"You are kind. But I do not think that any speech will help me. For I know what I should do, but I am afraid of doing it, Boromir: afraid."

Why did he wish not for another's advice? Boromir was puzzled. He tried again.

"Are you sure that you do not suffer needlessly? I wish to help you. You need counsel in your hard choice. Will you not take mine?" Frodo swallowed, and spoke carefully.

"I think I know already what counsel you would give, Boromir. And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart." So he _would _refuse. Boromir was aggrieved, but his conviction remained strong.

_Fool,_ sneered his menacing mind voice. _He will bring himself and the world to ruin. You must take it!_ Instead of being bothered by the violent manner of this suggestion, Boromir dully agreed with it. He did not notice that his hands, weary of trembling, had come to rest on his sword belt, one on the hilt. Neither did Frodo. His eyes were fixed still on Boromir, who answered with a cracking voice.

"Warning? Warning against what?"

A low buzzing started in Boromir's head. He ignored it.

"Against delay. Against the way that seems easier. Against refusal of the burden that is laid on me. Against – well, if it must be said, against trust in the strength and truth of Men." Frodo said each word carefully, though he was not sure it was wise to be so straightforward. But that, after all, was the nature of Hobbits – they were not meant to be deceiving creatures. He waited for Boromir's reply with growing dread.

"Yet that strength has long protected you far away in your little country, though you knew it not."

_And now I am glad, _Frodo thought wearily. _Let the strife stay in the South – let me complete my task! For it is the only way, Boromir: do you not see it?_

_No, you don't. I feared it was so. We will fall to ruin if you hinder me, and you most of all. For you, the downward climb has already begun._ "I do not doubt the valour of your people. But the world is changing. The walls of Minas Tirith may be strong, but they are not strong enough. If they fail, what then?"

"We shall fall in battle valiantly. Yet there is still hope that they will not fail."

_Not if the Ring penetrates them first. Do not ask this of me!_

"No hope while the Ring lasts." At these words glint appeared in the Man's eyes, as if reflecting the gold band that he desired but could not yet see. Frodo shivered and almost backed away, but held steadfast. He prepared himself for the inevitable request. He must _not _give Boromir the Ring! He would not!

"Ah! The Ring! Is it not a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing? So small a thing! And I– I have– I–"

He gasped then, clutching at his chest, and stared at Frodo through bloodshot eyes. Frodo felt suddenly a strange protectiveness, and began to edge away. But Boromir straightened, and seemed to radiate strength and power. Before Frodo could react, the Man lunged and grabbed his shoulders with both hands. It was impossible to escape such a firm grip, though Frodo struggled like a wild thing. It seemed that the same madness that had only moments before taken hold of Boromir was now coursing through Frodo.__

Intelligible thought had almost deserted the Hobbit completely, save for the last before the madness took him: Boromir must _not_ get the Ring. "No!" he hissed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Boromir's eyes were wild; his hands were shaking, though they clutched Frodo by the shoulders hard enough to bruise. His voice was steady and it penetrated the clouds in Frodo's mind.

"I have only seen it for an instant in the house of Elrond. Could I not have a sight of it again?"

The Hobbit was jerked back to coherent thought, and he was frightened. Fear shrouded him like an icy mist. Boromir's hands were like hot iron, branding their mark on him. He slapped at the Man's elbows, which were as far as his arms would extend. But it was futile; all Frodo's efforts had no hope of shaking Boromir. The Ring had taken him completely, Frodo knew. Boromir the Man was his friend, but this vessel of Sauron was not. Frodo shouted his defiance, "No! It is mine! My task! It has been entrusted to me! You shall not take the Ring, nor shall you take me!"

Boromir's eyes glazed, and it seemed that an immense internal struggle was taking place in the depths of his mind. His voice was then softer, though his hands strayed not from Frodo's shoulders and his grip was just as strong. "How can you understand your words? This is no small task you speak of! Yet there is another way, though the so-called 'Wise' would not have you see it! What would it matter to them, the life of one or many of we who shall die naturally in the course of things? Minas Tirith: you have not seen the seven great walls of my City. You have but seen the valour of one man alone, though were that Man to carry the Ring…why? Why should Boromir not carry the Ring? The Ring would give me power of Command. How I would drive the hosts of Mordor, and all men would flock to my banner!" The mad glint in his eyes was back. Frodo knew he was utterly helpless, unless another of the Company should come upon then. But he had asked for solitude, and it had been given.

It was indeed foolish to wander from the safety of the group. Frodo knew that now, but belatedly. Boromir was speaking again, but his tone was now mocking.

"Come, come, my friend! Why not get rid of it? Why not be free of your doubt and fear? You can say that I was too strong and took it by force. For I am too strong for you, halfling!" His grip changed, and Frodo found his feet swept out from under him, and the knees of the stronger Man dug into his chest so he could not rise. Fear greyed his vision.

Boromir held both his wrists away from his body with one hand in a death grip. He fumbled for a certain gold chain under Frodo's shirt. His eyes were crossed, and he mumbled insanely to himself. That was the last thing Frodo saw before he passed out.

**Author's Notes:**

So, so, terribly sorry about the ridiculously long wait. It shall not happen again. I swear by Glorfindel that it shall not happen again. But a friend and I have been working on a joint story, and that seems to have kicked me somewhat back into gear. Thank you, Aerlalaith!

Things are picking up though – we're straying away from canon I do hope I'm making the transition somewhat believable. This is my first try at major A/U, and all comments and criticism are appreciated. Oh, yes, and the chapters will get longer also. But I was afraid that if I didn't end it there, it would never get posted.

I have no Internet at home anymore (it was not my idea). So even once I start writing more regularly, expect slowish updates. Nowhere near as slow as this one, though.

Thank you muchly to reviewers of the first chapter! I suppose you may have noticed that the plot line has changed rather dramatically from its original direction. I hope you like it as much as you liked the beginning!


End file.
